


Make The Beats Go Harder

by theprincessed



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bottom Louis, Clubbing, Established Relationship, Facials, Fluff and Smut, Jealous Harry, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Rimming, Underage Drinking, it's all Chad Michael Murray's fault lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 02:07:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2905334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theprincessed/pseuds/theprincessed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry gets irrationally jealous of actor Chad Michael Murray paying attention to Louis whilst the group are in LA in 2012. It leads him to being kinda ridiculous. But also some great make-up sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make The Beats Go Harder

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, it's a throwback note for a throwback fic for the very last time, d'aww. I was gonna wait until January, but nope, I've decided enough is enough! 2015 will be brand new fic. So, I've left this one 'til last because it's pretty much my favourite for that period of time and still holds a special little place in my heart now. These boys are so cute with their stupid love. :)
> 
> Also, I didn't make up the Louis meeting Chad thing. That actually happened. His inner OTH fanboy must've been screaming his head off...
> 
> Originally posted 9 August 2012.

Sometimes it’s difficult to understand how this has happened. Louis never thought that in a million years he would end up on _The X Factor_ in the first place and especially for it to develop further than he ever imagined. Despite his pencilled in plans to go to university, it’s safe to say that the rollercoaster of being put into what would quickly become One Direction was one of the best things to happen in his young life. He prided himself on being the type of genial person to pretty much get along with anybody, at least in a small talk kind of way, so being in a boyband was like having the ultimate chance to get to know four new boys and sing all the time. If it sadly didn’t work out, then qué será.

But it did. In a lot more ways than one. They took their time to try and gel together, to see if they could be a group of friends first and a boyband second. The order worked and soon they were on stage and television, singing to hundreds in a live audience and millions of viewers every weekend. It was nerve-wracking but exciting because in their heart of hearts, they knew they’d found something good. 

That knack for reassuring people into being comfortable with him paid off for Louis and he cultivated relationships with all four of his bandmates and was sure they did the same. He got on with them all, but Harry was different, special somehow. They clicked straight away on that second day of bootcamp, although Louis tried to temper his attachment at first. He thought Harry’d go far, even asked for a photo to remember their connection by, and had no idea that he wouldn’t really need it and that every picture of Harry would come to feature him too. Their similarities meant their bond grew stronger and stronger throughout the run of the show and they were lucky that the others didn’t mind; truth be told, they found it rather amusing on plenty of occasions. 

Louis tried to stop it there, he really did, but the special quality Harry had about him kept obliviously drawing him in until he couldn’t do anything but cave. Predictably, he was drunk when he gave into new, confusing feelings for his best friend and Harry giggled as Louis tried fairly unsuccessfully to snog his face off. He was caught by the arms and shook lightly, affection radiating from Harry’s eyes. He wasn’t as inebriated as Louis, but his touch was decidedly warmer and closer than usual, something that Louis appreciated, particularly when he followed it up with words of comfort.

“I like you,” he grinned, almost nose to nose enough to make Louis feel cross-eyed, “but you have really shit timing. Go to bed.”

Being unceremoniously dumped onto the bed in their shared room, Louis thought that would be that, at least for a while. Maybe until the end of the competition. He was helplessly entertaining grand notions of a goodbye kiss before they were split apart forever (obviously if they didn’t win) when Harry cornered him a couple of days later during a break in choreography with Brian. He pushed Louis into the nearest empty room and bodily shoved him against what turned out to be a table before full on kissing his surprised mouth.

From then on, they were the worst kept secret on the show. Well, at least to everyone who mattered and weren’t the general public. They survived being pulled up in front of Simon’s shrewd eyes, the fondly exasperated _you two are utterly ridiculous_ expressions of their bandmates and welcomed with open arms into each other’s families as not just bandmates, best friends but also a bona fide couple. That felt odd, to put a label to it, so they rarely did. They were Louis and Harry. Even in a fledgling relationship, that was enough.

This was supposed to be in action on their trip to LA. They were in Los Angeles to record some more music because they’d had such a ball the first time. They knew how much they could improve and grow if they wanted it badly, and that was more than okay because they knew they all had each other to lean on. Personally, Louis knew he had Harry too, as an extra crutch because of what they were to each other and he thought Harry knew the feeling was mutual.

Sometimes it’s difficult to understand how this has happened. How Louis’ running through the busy streets of LA, bumping into so many people in the way as he desperately tries to catch up with Harry ahead. He wishes this was a game, one of their stupid pranks, and that Harry was fitter than him but he knows that’s not the reason. Louis’ not tens of paces behind because he’s slow. He’s behind because righteous indignation meant his feet didn’t want to work. He’d watched Harry stand up and walk out of the café they’d settled in for a spot of late dinner and some alone time on a calm, sunny day, breaking into a run when Louis had gathered his senses to go after him. He was running _away from Louis_ and that was the hardest part to accept. Louis was torn up inside his own bewilderment, stumbling over it whenever he thought of what Harry had said and how, even now, Louis didn’t understand any of it because it was all so silly. _No_ , not silly. The set of Harry’s jaw and the pinch of his mouth as his chair scraped backwards on the posh tiled floor of the eatery told Louis not to _dare_ find any of this silly. 

Their first proper argument, their first unresolved issue not immediately sorted with a laugh and an apology cuddle. All over another guy. He’s not just any guy either – it’s Chad. Louis still feels weird thinking of him in single name terms, even though he’s not let that show on his face whenever they’ve ever met up. The first time, last year, was a bizarre blur fit for showbiz, the second time not much clearer. There was brunch (Louis’ never “brunched” in his life) and an evening BBQ. He’s not entirely sure why Chad latched onto him rather than the other way round. In fact, Louis probably should’ve been falling at his feet, treating him like the American actor he was, but maybe Harry clouded his vision. Louis has watched him on TV and suddenly he was in LA, at a BBQ and being handed a beer by _Chad Michael Murray_ who’d ambled over to say hello. Things had never seemed more unreal and he wanted to clutch at Harry until it all evened out again. Still, Louis was also a people person and Chad was being nice, so who cares if he was technically illegally plying him with alcohol. It wasn’t like they were hitting the bars and clubs of LA, arrogantly expecting to get in just because he was an actor. Practically everyone in the city was ‘with’ an actor, even if it was being served by a part-time waiter.

Louis hadn’t noticed that something was _off_ about Harry straight away. Maybe he should’ve, being his best friend and sort of secret boyfriend, but it was LA and everything seemed great and maybe he was blinded by that feeling, that sense of nothing is real is it, so nothing can hurt. Twice he’d met with Chad the last time they were in town and the second time Harry had kept a polite distance. Not to seem rude, but not exactly rapt with adoration either. Chad didn’t notice, surrounded by his actual friends, but Louis still felt a tad uncomfortable and a bit weirdly like piggy in the middle. So when a curl of the lip he couldn’t disguise quickly enough fell across Harry’s face today in the café, Louis’ laugh had been just a touch incredulous. Wrong move. Yeah, he liked the guy but Harry didn’t have to get...he didn’t have to be so...

“Harry,” he sighed, shrinking back in his chair with a frown when he was shrugged off, “Harry, come on.”

“Leave it, Louis.”

Okay, so that wasn’t exactly words to forbid him from seeing Chad, but the incident at the café – when he’d casually mentioned meeting up with Chad again and a funny anecdote he had lazily been told about the place they planned to go to – had been like the straw which broke the camel’s back _and_ the dam and Louis could really see the displeasure on Harry’s face. He knew Harry would never outright tell him who he could and couldn’t see, but obviously Chad wasn’t a favourite, seen through the lens of...Well, Louis still wasn’t sure. Jealousy over his success? Harry’s insecurity over...something? The unfounded, frankly _ridiculous_ thought that Louis would try it on with the older man and, if welcomed, stay in America to be with Chad permanently?

Louis returns to their hotel just in time to see Harry enter their shared room. Half of him is regretting sharing now as he doesn’t think he can face him, but he knows he needs to in case Harry’s doing something completely stupid like packing to go back to Britain. Breathless from his heavy run, Louis straightens up and steels himself for what’s about to come. He’s not expecting to walk through the door (it’s closed, but Harry knew he had his own key card) and find Harry standing in front of the wardrobe. He is picking clothes out, but it doesn’t look like it’s to pack them.

“What – what are you doing, Haz?”

There’s no answer as Harry is as stubborn as ever and continues to rifle through t-shirts and shirts and jeans. When he apparently finds everything he wants, he gathers the haphazard pile in his arms and marches to the en suite bathroom, the door slam making Louis jump because he’s so caught off guard. 

Louis doesn’t remember how long he waits, but eventually Harry emerges from faded steam and looking fresh as a daisy. He smells it too as he walks over to the long dressing table’s mirror and Louis stands up from sitting on the edge of the bed, catching a whiff of his aftershave. He watches Harry pick up the essentials, inwardly relieved that he picks up his phone too. He never doubted that Harry isn’t stupid, just...whatever he’s feeling. Most likely irrationally, fiercely jealous. It’s that which makes Louis want to stop him from leaving again.

“Where are you going?” he asks, trying to grab hold of Harry’s wrist but he lifts his hand out of the way.

“Out.”

Louis raises his voice too, “But you’ll get lost! You don’t know you’re way around here, Harry.”

“I want _you_ to get lost!” he snaps, looking over his shoulder.

Louis sees him pause and bite his lip after that, like he didn’t mean it at all but feels in too deep to take anything back. It’s hardly a terrible insult, more childish and petty really, and that’s why Louis doesn’t respond immediately. He stares down at his Toms and lets the charged silence stretch on until Harry’s sigh makes him look up.

“Just. Go and be with _Chad_ , okay?” he suggests quietly, like its already inevitable despite the displeased inflection to his tone.

Louis opens his mouth to _make Harry see_ but the door clicks shut (it’s an improvement on the slamming) before he can form any words and he’s left standing by the one bed in the room and listening to the quick thud of footsteps move further down the corridor. _There he goes again, running away_ , Louis thinks with a hint of frustrated bitterness. So frustrated he pulls a clenched fist back and then let’s go, punching his hand into the wood of the dressing table. The shock of pain spreads out from his knuckles and he shakes his hand to somehow blot it out, swearing profusely. Bizarrely, he feels angrier after the fact and he picks up the remote to the television but, as instantly as it appears, the urge is gone. Deflated, his shoulders sag and Louis slumps onto the end of the bed once more, pointing the remote with disgruntled defeat.

He stays like this for half an hour, watching the hands of the clock at five minute intervals. He can only take that much before he’s jumping to his feet like someone flipped a switch and striding around the room in exactly same manner as Harry had earlier. He’s on a mission too. A mission to convince Harry of the truth.

He’s obviously in a hurry but fate seems to have timing down to an art form and he bumps into Zayn in the corridor, almost literally if he doesn’t sway away from the shoulder at the last second.

“Oh hey man, remember we’ve got that session with Jamie tomorrow – ” he starts then must notice how fidgety and preoccupied Louis is and stops his sentence abruptly, “Are you okay?”

Louis manages a smile, letting positivity fill him up because he’s going to need it to find Harry, “Fine. I just need to find Harry.”

“Find...” he looks lost for a moment before blinking out of it, “Where’s he gone?”

“I don’t know.”

“ _You don’t know_?”

“Stop repeating everything I say and turning it into a question!” he exclaims, but he’s smiling slightly to show that whilst the concern is touching, it’s unnecessary (or will be), “Look, sorry mate, but I’ve got to go. See you tomorrow.”

Louis rushes off, feeling a tad guilty that he didn’t exactly tell Zayn what was wrong and why he didn’t know where Harry was and then figures that it will become irrelevant when he finds him. Even though neither of them really know LA at all, he remembers where they’ve already been for exploring wanders and decides that’s as good a place to start as any when looking for your jealous boyfriend. He remembers one spot in particular and something tells him to head for there. He walks past closed shop doorways and presses his face to the darkened glass of the first one, not doing it again because he quickly realises it’s completely ridiculous that Harry would’ve _broken into_ somewhere to hide. 

On the end of one street is a club. Before crossing the road that separates him and the building, Louis pauses and takes a deep breath in. There’s obviously no guarantee Harry will be in there but he remembers the way he caught Harry staring at the closed club in the daylight. He guesses he felt he could do it because almost no one knew who either they or One Direction were in America. He steels himself for the fight to find him, tugging the hem of his t-shirt down as a readying gesture and beginning to walk across the road. He’s still wearing chinos and Toms because the evening is comfortably warm, but he changed his stripes for the soft raspberry and navy blue t-shirt that makes his tan look especially golden and strikes the blue of his eyes simultaneously. It’s simple and he briefly worries with an anxious swallow whether the club has a stricter dress code, but he easily passes by the bored doormen and starts up the stairs, almost knocking into a drag queen towering over him in really high platform heels, wearing feathers on his head and a silver sparkly dress. Louis feels eyes at his back as he continues and looks over his shoulder to see the same man staring at his arse. He expects the heavily made-up gaze to flick up to his face again or away pretty quickly, but is reminded of where he is, what kind of club this is, when the man takes his sweet time and adds a tilt to the head and a smirk when he does eventually register that Louis’ stopped walking and has caught him red-handed. The fact that he wants to turn to Harry in that moment and make a joke of it causes him to chuckle and shakes his head, taking the rest of the stairs to have this determination to find him count.

Once in the bowels of the club, the sudden explosion of light and colour makes Louis blink quickly. He’s not surprised exactly, but the wealth of sensation hits him like a brick wall. The noise, the movement, the _heat_ and the black spaces of darkness which probably hold a thousand worst kept secrets if you look hard enough or take a step too close. The lack of girls is also blatantly obvious, although if anything this makes Louis’ tensed shoulders relax even more. The lights flicker and the thick, stifling air seems to shimmer with something indefinable as he walks along the gangway above and towards the railing at one of the sides to peer over it. The place is pretty huge - like a black, hulking, breathing warehouse – but with the amount of people already here covering every inch possible that’s easy to forget. With his bird’s eye view, it doesn’t take long for Louis to spot the lit bars at opposite ends of the room with its black surfaces that blend into the walls and the darkness and the icy blue lights highlighting what’s important. 

Now he’s here, he decides to get a drink and wriggles between anyone in his path. In the way when something is new but favourably refreshing, he kind of enjoys walking through a whole host of strangers he knows he’ll probably never see again. There are all shapes, sizes, skin tones and reasons for being here but they are all men and Louis wonders how Harry is getting on, where he is. Part of him had hoped to beautifully collide with him on his little journey and tries to squash the disappointment when he finally gets to one of the bars and he hasn’t. It’s so packed with jostling bodies or static pairs snogging each other’s faces off like there’s no tomorrow that it takes a while to squeeze to the front and get noticed and Louis has a brief panic about ID when some blonde barman probably not much older than him shouts at him the obvious question. Despite not having anything yet to chase it with and not keen on being attached to the bar when he’s got a task to fulfil, he orders a whiskey and consciously doesn’t down it for the warm, lazy rush it usually offers. Instead, he sips and backs into the very end of the bar, almost swallowed by the dark unless the lights and lasers flash onto his face in mismatched stripes and shadows. Much like the gangway, it affords him the slight breathing space he needs to scan the room. He tilts his head, starting with the gangway just in case he’s missed Harry completely by accident then his gaze tracks slowly down, over the staircases and along the bars. His eyes stop on a section that’s to his eleven o’clock and pushed diagonally into one corner of the lower floor. It spreads from there so one would be able to see the short stack of wide steps from the gangway. It moves backwards into darkness from the large dancefloor, which Louis is near the edge of, and seemingly into another part of the club that’s probably the toilets. 

However, what snatches his interest with an intensity that feels like a physical punch is a figure standing halfway up the small set of steps. He’s leaning on the railing, hands behind himself to hold on lightly. One foot is stretched to the step below him as if he’s casually lounging but could be sending a signal in being persuaded to dance if the right person came along. He doesn’t need to say, Louis recognises him instantly, but “Harry” falls from his lips anyway and he does finish the rest of his drink quickly. He keeps his eyes trained on him as steadfast as he can, determined not to lose him now he knows he’s here, but apparently even that is not enough to prevent it from happening.

“Harry!” he calls, whirling around on the spot.

He frantically looks around until people start to press in on him the further onto the dancefloor he gets. He has no other choice but to cope with it, roll with it, and hope that when he gets to the other side Harry will be there to accept him into his arms. As things keep happening like this tonight, when Louis does stumble out from the throng of clubbers he is greeted by people sitting on the steps who are not Harry. He wants to petulantly stamp his foot or find a microphone which will allow him to get up on one of the ridiculous podiums and effectively yell Harry’s name until he makes his vanishing presence known. He’s just about convincing himself to do so, back still facing the dancefloor when he feels two bumps to his body, one to his shoulder and one to his back. The shoulder barge sees a topless, muscled man sashay past him but the other produces no one so Louis turns around and nearly loses his balance when he realises who it is. He jogs down the three steps he took and grabs him by his forearms before he can get lost again, whether through mistake or design.

“Harry!” he cries needlessly, “Thank god!”

“Hello you,” Harry replies.

Louis freezes, pulling back from having his cheek very near his chest to look into his eyes. His tone sounds fond and although Louis wishes to forget the jealousy and the stupid arguing, he can’t ignore the drastic switch in demeanour. Harry looks _pleased_ to see him and that sends Louis’ curiosity soaring. Of course, Harry could’ve had a (correct) change of heart about everything and realised that Louis does not in fact want to shack up with some TV actor he’s only met two times, tops. But that’s not likely. Louis’ not oblivious enough to not notice the tiny frowns Harry sends to some touchy people when he feels particularly strong about his lover on the day, so out-and-out jealousy is going to take some beating.

A gentle kick to his bare ankle yanks him out of his thoughts and plunges him into concern when Harry shouts to be heard over the blaring music, “Fancy a dance?”

He grins and Louis desperately wants to smile and kiss him because he can, but Harry is still _off_ somehow and he’d much rather solve that first and then, yes, dance with his incredibly hot boyfriend. Louis wonders if he’s been hit on yet and berates himself for it straight after. There’d have to be something wrong with the world if Harry hasn’t been flirted with countless times in the last sweaty, thundering hour, especially when he’s dressed in navy jeans, pristine white Supras and the turquoise t-shirt that was practically brand new for the trip. The real question is has Harry accepted the flirting, either for what it is or even taken advantage of...

Louis stops thinking. This is how he knows that Harry is not quite right. Something is different about him. Sure, he’s got a light sheen of sweat all over his skin that’s visible and Louis can feel his own t-shirt starting to stick to his spine from the proximity and volume of people and the heat of the ever-changing lights. Also, he seems to be wearing a near permanent grin and his eyes are glassy. Louis grabs his face between his palms and has to valiantly ignore how Harry sinks into his touch like he’s starved of it.

“Open your eyes, Harry,” he demands, shaking him for good measure. Harry wordlessly does as he’s told with liquid limbs and Louis gasps at the sight of his dilated pupils. “Fuck! What’ve you taken?!”

He doesn’t need to ask, can clearly see how Harry’s inhibitions have completely melted away and he wriggles in the grip Louis has on him, sort of happy about it but also too hyperactive to stay still for long. Louis knows in his heart of hearts that he won’t have been foolish enough to take something like coke when, to his knowledge, he’s never really done drugs before and he has an inkling of what this one will be but wants to hear it from the man himself. As it is, Harry giggles and nuzzles into Louis’ neck, inhaling his scent, as he slides his arms sloppily to his waist as well and hands settle at his lower back to push him closer.

“E.” he loud-whispers in his ear and Louis feels some of the fear trickle away because he’s now positive that Harry will come out of this unscathed. “X. M-D-M-A.” he spells out slowly, cheeky. “Ecstasy.”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” Louis interrupts, a little bit pleased that he’s obviously not taken an overzealous amount of pills if he can recall the nicknames of the drug.

“Come on,” Harry then encourages, smilingly grabbing Louis’ hand, “Dance with me.”

But the need to make certain that Harry is no longer jealous (hopefully underneath all this superficiality he still isn’t) and hydrating with something that isn’t alcohol overrides the urge to have a good time and Louis regrettably uses the hand around his to tug in the opposite direction towards the toilets. He steps behind him to guide him better, one hand snug against Harry’s ribs and the other sliding over his shoulder and, obviously mightily impressed with the pretty lights and the array of men they have to squeeze past to get where Louis wants to go, he is just as easily convinced to follow as if he’d got his own way and Louis was leading him to the dancefloor. 

The toilets are decked in cherubs and a lot of white, but the lilac lighting makes everything glow that colour as Louis spins them into the less crowded space and shoves Harry into the first available stall. Harry’s eyes look black and Louis shivers when he realises that they are confined and locked in, perhaps what Harry hoped for all along. He can tell from Harry gaining on him, pressing his body up close and Louis’ spine into the cubicle wall that he was spot on. Harry is completely on high alert – his teeth apparently finding his lower lip appetising as he bites down, his chuckle at the faint moaning a few doors down and the quick sniff of powdery drugs and his body thrumming with an electricity that is utterly intoxicating to stand in front of – but he only has eyes for Louis and he feels pinned under that gaze. Still, to his credit, he speaks.

“Why would you do that, Harry?” he asks rhetorically, careful not to touch him now as he knows it’ll all be over if he does. “Taking drugs because of some stupid argument that doesn’t even make sense. Is it LA? Does the city make you feel like you can do what you want, fuck the consequences?”

Harry breathes out in a rush against his temple. “Sorry I was jealous. But you’re so fucking – just fucking - irresistible. Now can I _please_ kiss you to make up for being a stupid twat?”

Louis can’t help the snort of laughter and nods, figuring they’ve both suffered enough tonight. It’s time to forgive and forget; glad he’s got his Harry back to have some fun. He curls his arm around Harry’s neck as he leans in and plants a plush kiss on his mouth. Harry doesn’t stay there long and Louis feels lips press firmly to his jaw and neck, licking across his quickening pulse.

“I’ve got one more.” he hears spoken into his skin. Harry’s words are clearer because only the thudding underlying bass of the club’s music reaches them in here, but he still holds his breath for a moment in case he heard wrong or interpreted differently. “You can have it if you like. Let’s get fucking high, Lou. Then dance. _Then_ fuck like rabbits.”

He giggles at his last statement and his laugh sounds dirty at the best of times, but now it sounds even worse (better) because of why he’s amused and how he’s clearly aroused if the erection pressing against Louis’ thigh is any indication. Taking Louis’ silence as a yes, he rifles through the tight dips of his jeans’ pockets to find the lone tablet, biting his lip with a knowing look in his shining eyes when he has to reach into the back ones. With the coloured tab tucked between his thumb and forefinger, he stands close and moves it towards Louis’ mouth. When Louis opens up and he places it delicately on his tongue, he perfects the killer blow, which is ironic with what he says next.

“I want to suck your cock.” he drawls low, rough and lazy.

Louis feels like he would’ve choked had he not already quickly swallowed the drug and is already fascinated with Harry’s attention span seemingly holding steady as he’s got Louis right where he wants him and doesn’t have to go skipping off to find him or another beautiful distraction.

“I mean it.” Harry adds, in a voice that sounds one step from unashamedly begging, “I want to get on my knees for you. Please. I’m sorry.”

It should be fucked up that he’s apologising again for being irrational whilst offering a sex act but Louis likes the surge of feeling wanted that wells within him so much that he whimpers a little in resignation, nodding with a “fuck, yeah, do it” tumbling out as the last straw of restraint breaks now it’s not needed.

“And I’m – ” he starts to say in apology too for not being more in tune with his boyfriend’s feelings before Harry kisses him quiet.

“Fuck, what is this?” he growls as he grabs Louis’ cock through his clothes, “These are still so sinfully fucking tight and it’s the middle of summer in a sweaty club. You drive me fucking mad.”

Louis wants to laugh at him fondly for running his mouth off in a less than imaginative manner, but something about him lowly whispering those words has his insides turn to jelly instead as he continues. “Not sure I can dance with you like this. You need loosening up.”

It’s said with all the subtlety of every possessive move Harry has in his repertoire, dangerously bold and scorching hot but Louis still kisses desperately when he’s given his tongue in deep swipes that leave him breathless and his fingers tangle in damp curls. When Harry decides that he’s getting pulled into that too much, he reels back and licks his lips.

“Going down,” he quips, brushing them over any exposed parts of Louis’ body on the descent to his knees, “I may be a while.”

_Unlikely_ , Louis assesses through his answering laugh, because Harry’s good – very good, _too_ good. His mind seems to be ten steps ahead, maybe from the anticipation of the drug’s effect soon to be sparking in his bloodstream, so he expects Harry to go straight to the main event and is a little surprised when he doesn’t. Instead, he feels warmth seep into his clothes as a hand settles over his crotch and applies steady pressure that rolls and rubs when he gets used to the sensations. Every pass of Harry’s palm has his breathing kick up a notch, forcing tight, shallow air from his lungs and causing him to look down at what’s happening, like he can stare Harry into bending to his will. If this is what Harry wants then he should get to it, Louis thinks stubbornly as he gets a taste of his own medicine and a mouth remains inches from his clothed cock. 

He aches to see that tongue and reaches down to stroke his fingers over Harry’s shoulder to dominantly direct as his thumb presses into his collarbone. He lets the cubicle wall take more of his weight, readying, when long, pale fingers turned a little golden from sunshine wriggle to find the zip of his flies, inching down. He says Harry’s name breathily, pressing with his thumb again just in case he needs the reminder and finding that it’s unnecessary as his trousers feel distinctly looser around his hips. Harry plants hands on his arse, only the open flaps of his chinos showing anything incriminating and Louis feels fingers squeeze his clothed buttocks as Harry’s mouth traces the outline of his cock with a long lick over the material of his tight-fit underwear. He nearly jumps out of his skin, a palm slamming against the wall from the unexpected, fuzzily wet feeling as Harry suckles at the head of his dick unseen and keeps up the steadfast grip with his big, slightly clammy hands to make sure Louis gets the idea that he’s not going anywhere until he’s finished with him, not even able to thrust much with being so trapped. Louis’ control of the situation slips until its non-existent, helplessly raising shut eyes to the black ceiling as Harry uses his teeth to carefully peel enough of his boxers away to give him better access. Apparently he’s not bothered about seeing a lot of skin yet, rather enjoying the tease from his content giggle as the cock he has his eye on, and his lips only a moment ago, is freed for him to go to town.

He slides his tongue from the underside to the base, tilting his head to lick at warm, difficult to reach places as he risks letting Louis go with one hand to rub and squeeze across his balls whilst his mouth works. Louis’ fingers twirl in the head of hair below him and he pulls his lower lip in with his teeth when Harry sits back for a moment then takes him halfway on one breath, the suction tight and overwhelming as his hand comes up to close around the rest of him and tug rhythmically towards his lips. The drug kickstarts in Louis’ blood for real and suddenly the biggest desire he has is to thrust hard over that silky tongue with his fingertips fluttering at Harry’s ears and the newly hardened line of his jaw. When thinking about it, his hips give a little pre-emptive jerk and he immediately wants to apologise despite how good it feels to push down into that throat but Harry surprises him by digging his thumbs into his waist and angling him away from the wall to practically make the move for him. Louis moans as the situation spins out of his grasp until the rush of fucking into Harry’s mouth cuts out everything except Harry trying to be vocal in return and the sneaky suspicion that he’s getting himself off at the same time. Without thinking, just needing to know, Louis yanks on Harry’s curls to feel the vibrations of another raspy groan and suddenly see his glossy, wide, green eyes staring up at him with his lips wrapped around his dick. He can see Harry’s neck straining; the vein at the side protruding wildly but Louis follows the line down to his forearm that’s tense too as his fist works over his own cock that’s been quickly pulled from his jeans. Louis curses and shuts his eyes, aware that Harry kneels up higher and his mouth slides even lower. The bobbing of his head increases and Louis instinctively wants to writhe and twist but Harry’s using his body again to stop him, his flushed dick standing to waiting attention as apparently keeping Louis still with his arms is more important that receiving pleasure. It’s that selfless knowledge that crushes Louis’ hands at the shoulders of Harry’s t-shirt and has his toes curling in his Toms and thighs trembling as he comes in Harry’s mouth. If he could breathe and blink through coloured spots clouding his vision, he might be suspicious of how messy it turned out to be with Harry sucking the sticky taste of him that trickles over his lips and catching a rogue drop clinging to his chin. The sight makes Louis’ knees buckle and he thinks he hears Harry chuckle throatily when hands quickly come round his waist to hold him steadily against the wall.

“Told you I wanted to _suck_ your cock,” he says smugly, rolling the word around on his tongue to somehow increase the filth of the meaning.

Satiated, Louis watches woozily as Harry gets to his feet and finds that he likes him standing this close at the best of times but now he can feel Harry’s bare erection brush his mostly covered leg and he looks pointedly down between them. “What about...?”

Surprisingly, Harry shakes his head as if he’s just remembered that he’s still hard and carefully tucks himself back in to his jeans. The unresolved bulge is obscene even to Louis’ buzzing mind. “I still have to dance with you. We never dance together.”

Louis wants to say because _we’re not like that_ , but this prospect does sound fun so he lets it go as he tries not to focus on whether Harry will want them chest to chest or – worse – chest to spine with _that_ snug in his boxers. Harry’s playful smirk tells him all he needs to know. Louis reaches for him again, the thrumming underneath his skin not abated thanks to the blowjob like he thought it might, and apologises with his lips pressed to Harry’s. He’s loathed to ruin the fun atmosphere, but feels like he has to say it anyway. Apparently, Harry thinks differently and presses his warm face into the hair just behind Louis’ ear with a fond chuckle.

“Stop. I’m the one who’s supposed to be sorry – ”

“I think that was apology enough,” Louis interrupts with a grin.

Harry matches his expression, tugging on Louis’ hand so their chests collide and the proximity sees that Louis has to tilt his head up slightly to look at him properly, “And you look too hot to stay cramped in here all night. Come on.”

There’s a wicked glint in his eye and Louis wants to tease and ask what the hell the last fifteen minutes were, but instead he laughs and lets Harry lead the way this time. They’re just coming out of the darkened alcove that houses the toilets when Harry stops on the spot. Louis muffles a surprised sound when his front curls against Harry’s back and he follows his gaze to a guy sitting on the end of a random bench seat with one knee tucked into his chest and the rest of his body at odds in a nonchalant sprawl. He’s bathed in the same blue light that accentuate the bars, but when he turns his head the other way, Louis snaps his mouth closed for lack of anything to say. Spiralling across his forehead and down his cheek seems to be some kind of fluorescent face paint in a delicate, swishy design. Harry and Louis’ eyes drop lower to the seat and placed beside him is a palette of coloured pots and a paintbrush. Harry grips Louis’ wrist with a force that jerks him forward as he pulls him towards the man, Louis torn between protesting and giggling. Harry stuffs some money in the guy’s palm with barely a look at what he’s giving him before he puts his hands on Louis’ shoulder and shoves him down onto the bench seat.

“Harry – ” he tries to laugh, but then is struck dumb from any other words as the guy lazily looks him over before sitting up and shuffling closer.

He reaches out and Louis’ first instinct is to shy away because he isn’t some overwhelmed teenage girl, but he feels so warm and oddly protected in the sweaty confines of this place and besides, he’s got Harry with him and one look at the amused slant of his mouth makes his confidence rise and he boldly stares back at the other guy as fingertips barely trace the sharpened curve of his cheekbone and flit to his jaw. His thumb holds him there and Louis is still, like he’s afraid to interrupt the flow of creativity going on behind the man’s calculating gaze. In the next second, he twists for the palette and the brush and Louis shuts his eyes when the first wet daub of paint presses to his slightly damp skin. It takes seconds before there’s a clink to signal that he’s downed his paintbrush and he can leave. Louis blinks his eyes open and glances at Harry. He’s not smiling, no longer that gleeful. His mouth is so pink and swollen from their earlier escapade and Louis watches as he slowly lets his tongue drag out over his lower lip, whether subconsciously or not. He stands easily as Harry grips the well worn material of his t-shirt, his eyes never leaving his face.

“Hey!” they hear drawled behind them and turn to look at the guy again. He gestures slowly to Louis. “Your bone structure is killer. You’re, uh, pretty cool to paint on, man.”

Louis huffs out a surprised laugh, flushing at the compliment when Harry seems to press his side impossibly closer, “Thanks.”

Harry slides an arm around his shoulders and they walk around the corner so they’re out of sight of the guy when Harry’s hands drift from there to hold Louis’ face steady in front of him. He giggles a little, still energized and heady from his intoxication and carefully leans his forehead on Louis’, grazing the highest point of his cheekbones with his thumbs.

“How is that ridiculously attractive?”

Louis shrugs to the rhetoric, untangling himself when the level of awe Harry is staring at the bright pink and yellow spots and squiggles arching over his eyebrow and fading into his cheeks gets too hot to handle. He lets his hand trail down the centre of Harry’s chest and hears the hitch of breath when the warmth of his fingers runs past the cold metal of the almost hidden necklaces and end pressing lightly into his stomach, causing a flutter as Louis blinks ridiculous eyelashes over heavy, lust-darkened eyes. Harry lunges at him, still cupping his face, and kisses him fiercely which seems to mean that he can’t take much more either. _One quick dance_ , Louis promises in his head, because he’ll do anything to please Harry, to make him keep kissing like that with little teasing hints of his tongue that he knows will deepen to bone melting intensity when they’re finally alone.

It’s Louis who decides to pull Harry’s hand away, only to grasp it in his own and lead them back together into the overpopulated throng of clubbers with a mischievous grin. When they find some space, he pushes Harry to twirl under his arm and laughs as he complies, his knees slightly bent and staggering. He’s not expecting him to twist back the way he came and a shocked, but happy breath leaves Louis’ chest as Harry uses his new hold to step behind Louis and jerk him against his body. They sway and cheekily bump hips and alternate their positions, dancing around each other both physically and metaphorically in the enclosed space as other bodies surround them. It smells like damp fluorescent paint and sweat and man. Louis presses closer into the firm stability of Harry’s warm, welcoming body as he twists around once more to curl his hands into his shoulders and roll his groin forward. He watches as Harry’s mouth parts, but he makes no objections, so Louis slides one of his tightly-clad thighs between Harry’s longer legs and rubs himself up against him as best he can. With the Ecstasy still swimming happily in his system, coloured lights seem to burst behind his eyelids as the lasers in the actual club swish and dissect their shining faces in ever changing patterns. Their eyes are locked like they can’t and won’t stray suddenly for even a second and pleasure fizzes down Louis’ spine as he feels Harry quickly catch on and grind back into him by meeting his languid, dirty thrusts with tight circles and brushes of his hidden cock. Louis gives in to the walls of sound around him, raises his arms to something that bizarrely might be one of The Saturdays’ songs and is wonderfully stunned when Harry’s arm slides around and he feels a warm hand smack his arse lightly in time to the beat. He can’t find it in himself to grin and make a joke of it; not when his knees bend and his hips thrust forward, Harry’s clammy fingers sometimes digging into the small slip of a pocket shaped to the firm, neat curve. _I feel like we’re already fucking_ , Louis says with the slant of his eyelashes and the quick swipe of his thumb against the corner of his slightly open mouth. He sees Harry blink a lot faster than his usual lazy ease and then the hand shifts demandingly to his lower back and they collide together for a kiss, a tongue licking past his lips like Harry is starved for his taste. They lose what little rhythm is passing between them as all their hyper energy and concentration is directed into their mouths, but it doesn’t matter because soon they will have left and be heading towards their hotel to continue their night. But that doesn’t mean Louis can’t eke out the last of the fun to be had. Conscious of Harry’s limbs seemingly draped all over him and the way their crotches fleetingly still connect now that they’ve slowed to less frantic movement, Louis tries to get his attention for more than a quick, knowing smile.

“Hey,” he has to shout towards his ear with the constant blare of fast, thumping music now that they’re in the thick of things. “You must be doing something right because there’s a guy at your two o’clock – yeah, him behind me – who has been drooling over you ever since we got back,”

“Shut up, he’s – ” Harry squeezes Louis closer to his body as his hands drift once again to his arse, “I knew it! It’s _you_ he’s staring at; he’s staring at your arse, not me. He’s probably trying to kill me with his eyes. And don’t look now, but he’s heading straight for us - uh, I mean - you.”

Louis pretends to look shocked, “No, maybe it _is_ both of us? The greedy git.”

He turns so his spine is flush against Harry’s torso and watches as the guy slots in easily to the little space that’s around them, like he does this all the time. Maybe he does, but Louis’ not worried, so much so that he doesn’t push him away when the guy steps forward incrementally, his feet shuffling along to the beat. His shirt is already halfway undone, his one too many muscles bulge and his dark, Latin complexion shines with perspiration and glitter. Louis fights the giggle as Harry’s protective grip on his hips tightens. He’s starting to feel jealous again and although that’s what got them into their silly argument in the first place, Louis’ inhibitions are lowered and his cares are non-existent so he doesn’t placate his boyfriend or walk away from the dancing guy. Instead, he pushes his arse backwards onto Harry and feels the gasp rush past his ear. He’s still hard, probably aching with it now.

“What’re you doing?”

Louis moves his head, his grin turned on the side of Harry’s face so the clueless guy in front of them doesn’t think it’s for him, “What’s it look like I’m doing? Jealous yet?”

“Very.”

“But we’re just dancing...”

“ _Very_.” Harry repeats as he obviously discounts the fake innocence in Louis’ tone.

Louis pats the guy carefully on the shoulder before he can even think of touching him, shouts a cheerful “thanks,” to mean the quick, bare bones of a dance then yanks Harry’s head down for an open-mouthed kiss that’s harder with intent. When he pauses for breath, he glances around to find that the guy has thankfully moved on into the rest of the crowd. Louis rubs up against Harry, thrusting back instead of forward and swallowing his moan when hands drop to the front of his thighs. He can’t tell if it’s a warning or just Harry needing to get more purchase, so he slides his own into his curls to keep him where he is for long enough to loud-whisper in his ear, “I want to go back to the hotel and _fuck_ your brains out.”

“Not if I get to you first,” he retorts immediately and Louis grins, pleased and aroused in equal amounts.

“Dare you to try.”

They fight through the crowd and eventually manage to stumble outside into the cool night air, feeling decidedly more sober but even more horny. They keep the public displays of affection to an absolute minimum in case they’re spotted and are grateful that their hotel is only a short walk from the club. Something flutters inside Louis’ chest at the thought that, even irrationally mad, Harry can’t – won’t – wander too far away from him.

After shakily unlocking their hotel room with the keycard, Louis glances up and down the quiet corridor then pulls Harry over the threshold of the door by the front of his t-shirt to quickly capture his mouth. Still kissing, Louis turns on his heel and pushes Harry towards the bed whilst keeping a hold on the material, using his grip to direct. He’s shoved to sit on the mattress and bounces a little when their lips lose contact, looking up at Louis as he kneels and crawls on after him. Louis reaches for his face at the same time that Harry reaches for his, his fingers sliding along the sweat clinging to his jaw and he falls back on the sheets to take Louis with him. He complies up to a point, enjoying the angle of being in Harry’s lap so he can grind his hips down onto him with the sole aim of making him come.

“Oh, fuck – Lou – ” he gasps when he pauses moving his mouth on Louis’ to take a breath.

His palms are clamped to Louis’ trousers, although sometimes his fingers try to scrabble fruitlessly under the waistband and maybe under his boxers to get at his flesh. Louis simply slides their bodies together; his thighs either side of Harry’s hips and with a fistful of his hair from the top of his head.

“No!” Harry thrashes some more, his cheek pressed to the bed, “Gonna – gonna come – ”

Louis smiles before biting his lip as a particularly strong thrust wakes up his own cock again. “Go on then.”

With a determined growl, Harry grabs Louis by his biceps and flips them so that he’s on top, just as a shudder runs through him and his orgasm crashes over him whilst he’s still fully clothed. There’s a short silence and their grip lessens on each other as they realise what just happened.

“Crap.” he mumbles, his eyes shut and a tiny frown line between his eyebrows.

Louis tries to keep in his breathless amusement, lest he embarrass him even further (although, to him, it was about time Harry had some relief), and instead rubs his thumbs into Harry’s forehead to smooth the frustration away. Louis’ shoulders lift from the bed as he presses a gentle kiss to his nose and green eyes finally flutter open.

“You should get out of those clothes,” Louis suggests with an exaggeratedly lewd expression.

Harry readily agrees anyway because of the stickiness and is naked in double time, which they suppose is nothing too unusual. Figuring it’s the least he can do, Louis lets hands push his thighs out wide and Harry’s body slots in between them, his come lightly streaking the waist of Louis’ chinos quickly giving him an idea. He gets rid of his t-shirt with Harry sitting back on his haunches, feeling avidly watched but pleasantly so, and soon kicks off everything else to make them on equal terms. He feels Harry maybe actually sigh against him when he crooks a finger and his body covers his own and Louis kisses him as a distraction from where he gathers the mess smeared on Harry’s skin and rubs it along his cock, slicking him up. Harry swallows hard but Louis keeps his touch gentle because he knows he’s still sensitive when he aligns both their dicks and starts to lightly stroke. He arches his hips towards him too and is encouraged as Harry ducks and licks into his mouth. However, he’s a little knocked for six when hands suddenly take his working wrists and pin them beside his head. Only then does Harry pull away from their lip-lock and Louis’ jaw falls slack at the sight of his blown pupils, the sweep of his curls and how his eyes are smiling so devilishly.

He’s the one that’s supposed to be in control and yet Harry hasn’t got the memo as he trails his lips past the smudged, dried paint on Louis’ cheekbone and down low into the glistening hollow of his throat.

“I want to lick you out,” he whispers there and Louis could almost believe it’s to himself if Harry wasn’t also gently squeezing the bones of his wrist beneath his fingers, “want to feel you clench against my tongue.”

“Bloody hell, Harry,” Louis exclaims softly and his body does momentarily tense up at the thought.

His breathing falls into step with his fast heartbeat as his wrists are released from their hold then those same hands sliding underneath his thighs to curl around them and make him bend at the knee. He feels the stretch as Harry leans in and presses his lips to his legs the further they fold into his chest, but they fall uselessly open on the bed as soon as Harry lets go and traces the inner flesh of his thigh, skin a shade lighter than the rest of him. He thinks he hears a chuckle, but something fond, and Louis tries to follow the touch as his legs splay in the crook of Harry’s elbows and his hands span around his hips, drawing his face near. Louis looks down the length of his body then almost wishes he hadn’t as he locks eyes with the former green of Harry’s, given way to a startling amount of pupil like a cat about to pounce. He bites his lip, his head straining backwards helplessly, as Harry kisses warmly and open mouthed in towards the base of his cock before sinking lower, licking at the space behind his balls and then with the briefest languid swipe of the tip of his tongue across his hole. Louis’ body responds jerkily, his feet dangling over Harry’s shoulders, but he doesn’t move away. Instead, Harry simply squeezes his hipbones affectionately and then brings his hands round to spread Louis open with firmer fingers, his pouncing in action when he moves his tongue in a lazy circle around the tense flesh. Louis’ hands fly down to push at the crown of Harry’s head a few times, batting weakly like he wants to get away from the slick sensation before changing his mind swiftly with a gasp to clench in the soft, curly strands and ready to ride the pleasure as it comes to him. Always in the mood to be daring, he risks another glance and is punched in the gut just like the first moment and probably like the first _time_ Harry ever did this as wide eyes blink at him ever so deceptively innocent. He can’t decide whether it’s a favourite of his or Harry’s, but yanks the hair in his grasp anyway when he can’t seem to find his voice. Harry eases off with the remnants of a laugh, his thumb teasingly rubbing where his lips were.

“Easy.” he soothes as Louis squirms, fruitlessly trying to gain more friction or have something inside him, “I’m not going anywhere. But I do want you to turn over.”

In actual fact, Harry does most of the work as Louis lies in a happy daze and hands turn him face down by his hips. He presses his cheek into the warmed sheets and is distracted enough by streaks of smudged paint imprinting onto the bed to really register Harry’s palms shifting his thighs out wide until the wet of his tongue returns. He hums against Louis’ skin this time and increases the pressure with his mouth, holding him open to lick with more fervour and intent. The first proper groan is almost out of Louis when Harry slackens his jaw and moves his tongue in tighter spirals and and sharp bursts of pleasure make Louis keen instead, biting at the sheets to muffle the sound. Refusing to take pity on him, he’s held down in place and it only serves to make Louis want to cant his hips up in the air and he realises his fatal mistake as soon as he does and hears the pleased noise from Harry in reply. He’s there for him to take and Louis can feel the key features of his face as he leans in impossibly closer and starts pressing sucking kisses from the beginning dip of his arse to right beneath the sensitive underside of his balls. With another swirling flick upwards from his tongue, tracing the path he’d already made, Louis’ moans turn guttural and urgent as Harry’s mouth runs in the crease between his cheeks and he continues to lap at him in a steadier pace until Louis can’t help but willingly surrender. He can feel the way his toes curl and his fists tighten on the bed but that doesn’t seem to be much of a problem because Harry can still dig his fingertips bluntly into the firm muscle at either side and coax him to relax with a soft touch. He licks him over and over until, with a sharp breath in, he fixes his tongue into a stiff point and ploughs forward. Louis raises his head from the bed on a wordless, stunned breath and his shoulder blades jut out and shift as he wriggles to make Harry get deeper. He cries out when he gets his wish, pushing back onto the fast jabs of slick warmth with rapidly less care and in search of prolonging probably the best fuck of his life. He has no idea if the drugs have anything to do with this, but finds he doesn’t care much for the answer anyway as Harry builds a rhythm that skips and changes, tiny quick licks and saliva-soaked broad presses, until Louis’ going out of his mind from the onslaught that doesn’t seem to have an end in sight. It’s why he feels a little light headed when Harry pulls away slightly in a moment of respite that is probably for them both. Well, it would be if hands weren’t smoothing over Louis’ back and touching him because he can, to keep Louis on the precipice of always craving more.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, squeezing flesh between his fingers and Louis can feel the way his body quivers in reaction, “so tight, aren’t you? So sensitive for my mouth. You want more? Say it, Lou. Tell me you want my tongue inside you.”

“Stop it, Harry – stop – please – fuck, I want it – give it to me – _oh_!” he wheezes as Harry bites gently at a buttock then settles his mouth back over his hole mid-beg and thrusts his tongue like he wants to with his cock, “oh my god, Harry, yes, _c’mere_.”

Louis feels him pause, probably confused, but then does as requested once he turns his head to stare at Harry beseechingly. Louis waits until he’s braced above him and pulls on his arm to dislodge his position. Quick as a flash, he rolls out from under Harry before he hits the mattress and swings his leg over to straddle his back and clamp his hand around his neck, holding him face first into the bed. Chest heaving from the attention already lavished on him coupled with the move that could’ve so easily gone wrong, Louis presses forward with his cock trailing sticky in the dip of Harry’s spine and can’t resist sliding a finger behind into his own body either. Even as Harry turns his face so that he can breathe, Louis’ palm remains locked against his nape as he rocks his hips on top of him.

“My turn.” he vows, voice husky with babbled overuse.

“Not – not a chance!” Harry grits out, even as he lets Louis’ shuffle off his legs and a hand sliding to his waist guides him onto all fours.

Louis laughs quietly at that as his mouth trails up and over the soft edges of the few tan lines that fade into Harry’s skin, feeling the phantom touch of a tongue on his. He rises from his haunches to kiss across hipbones and lower back as the fingers of one hand flit between the delicate paleness of Harry’s thighs and then dance around to his front, keeping him bent double as Louis leans forward to slot the length of his body onto Harry’s. From there, he can reach the lube that was left carelessly next to the phone in the room that distant morning. He pours out the amount of a cupped palm and throws the plastic bottle over his shoulder nonchalantly before sliding his sticky hand along Harry’s cock to start stroking him quickly in time with how he sucks at the back or the side of his sweaty neck or the slope of his broad shoulder. Harry bucks into the movement with a long, helpless groan and Louis can’t help giggling in delight, high off what they do to each other naturally instead of the drug still tickling his heightened senses. As much as he’d like to tease Harry open like this then fuck him from behind, Louis knows there’s better ways of doing this with more room to spread out and they’ve got the width of the bed so they might as well use it.

Inhaling as if to gather enough strength, Louis wraps his arms around Harry’s waist and then pulls as he tips backwards and sends them both sprawling sideways onto the opposite end of the bed. Their feet are by the pillows now instead and to make sure Harry doesn’t squirm away and gain the upper hand again so soon, Louis fits his hand around his cock and returns to rubbing him into a frantic, wild mess of a person. Leaning back, he searches blindly for the tossed lube and makes sure his other fingers are coated before he smoothes them beneath Harry’s balls to teasingly circle his hole. Harry darts forward, kissing Louis until his fingers start to slow and lose coordination because of the distraction, making him smirk against his lips. Louis knows what he’s doing, tries to even extricate himself from that mentally at least, but hands fall to the base of his skull and his arse and he’s not sure if he’s the one who throws a leg over Harry’s body or if he was grabbed by his thigh and pulled over until resisting wasn’t an option. He feels exposed already and dying for fulfilment, a scratch to that itch that has nothing to do with tonight specifically and everything to do with how much he’d tear Harry’s clothes off if he was still wearing any.

They both gasp at the same time when Harry’s fingers stray too and he presses one into Louis to test before quickly following it with another, sliding in deep and pulling out just as confident to make him thrust helplessly into the groove of his hip. He’s relaxed enough from Harry’s tongue but it still feels like his fingers squeeze in tight and Louis tenses, overwhelmed by how bold and nearly satisfying it is to have more than a lapping mouth trying to get inside him. He’s half on top of Harry to push him all the way over onto his back when Harry stops teasing and presses against the resistance in Louis’ biceps, wrestling until he tries to loom over and Louis buckles under the pressure – or the thoughts that go with that image, he’s not entirely sure which – with an annoyed huff of breath as he sinks back into the sheets. Harry knocks his knee against the side of Louis’ so they’re splayed out wider and holds his arms above his head by his wrists, looking down into his face. Anyone would probably say that Louis’ finally submitting when Harry lets one wrist go and he doesn’t move to counterattack again, but he just smiles to himself and waits. He arches up against Harry in approval when he reaches across the bed for the discarded lube, his body stretched out with Louis underneath him. Louis follows the path tucked deep into Harry’s arm with his mouth, tracing the lines of the ink collecting there, as Harry sucks and breathes into his neck whilst trying to multi-task with the lube and pin Louis down at the same time. He sighs eventually, lips twitching despite himself when he has to give up and put some distance between them to see what he’s doing.

Unperturbed, Louis keeps watch on Harry sat back on his haunches in the lazy sprawl of his legs and trails his fingers nonchalantly down his torso until he tucks two of them inside himself with a pleased little squirm. Harry dives up to kiss him hard and Louis not sure if that’s his laughable idea of punishment or not until he feels his own fingers get wetter with dripping lube as he holds them almost still. He was thinking that Harry would pull them gently away, chastise him with a playful bite or two but instead, Louis realises frantically with a gasp, he takes Louis’ deliberate mischief and adds one of his fingers. It’s a squeeze and Louis wants him to go faster, so he swaps his grip lightly to his cock and lifts his hips as encouragement for Harry to take over. With a chuckle, he does because Louis knows they can’t resist each other in the end, especially not when their skin feels so warm together and every touch has an extra chemical spark that’s not there usually. Harry can’t stop kissing him and he’s fine with that as it gives him something to focus on, a space to gather his thoughts when these days kissing Harry feels as natural as breathing.

“Hey,” he starts and Harry slips two more fingers into him at the sound of his voice, like he’s challenging Louis to be any sort of coherent when being fucked open by his hands. “Tell you what, in the morning, I’ll...”

He trails off helplessly and Harry giggles, “speak up,” so Louis reaches to the back of his head and pulls his hair to retaliate.

“In the morning,” he says through gritted teeth, “I’ll let you fuck me again, anyway you want. In the shower, up against these very thin walls, on the floor with my feet next to me ears, I don’t care which – what d’you say, hm?”

Harry groans loudly to show that he likes that idea very much, but withdraws his hands just when Louis was beginning to feel the slow burning flutter of something. However, his confused frown is short lived as Harry pulls him close with one arm beneath his shoulders and snatches up a condom to tear the foil with his teeth. As his brain scrabbles to catch up that tonight foreplay is clearly over in Harry’s eyes, Louis’ eyebrows lift, his eyes grow wide and his mouth falls open when Harry grabs his cock and slides smoothly inside his body. Louis catches Harry’s face in his clammy palms to anchor himself, muttering a high, shocked “okay, okay,” with a shaky nod as Harry dips to claim his lips. They rock together gently at first, but are quick to gain momentum because everything feels like stars and fireworks and multi-coloured spots. The twist to Harry’s hips jerk Louis continuously in his place on the bed until he threads his arms around Harry’s waist and clings to him with raised heels that dig into the middle of his lover’s spine. Louis can’t help blinking once or twice to refocus from a particularly hard few thrusts that have his eyes rolling towards the ceiling and Harry pants near his slack mouth, just as overcome.

When he’s got his rhythm going, Harry untangles himself from Louis’ slick, octopus limbs with a grin and grips the back of his thighs for something to hold onto when he fucks into him, screwing in against that spot in long, sure strokes where he can watch his dick sink into Louis’ tight heat. Louis’ still feverish with his wish to touch Harry everywhere, so he stretches his fingertips to Harry’s flexing abs and sweeps up his chest to go over his nipples, gasping when Harry leans into his hand and changes the angle of where they are joined. He pulls Harry over him again to bite at his neck, Harry hissing through his teeth at the sting and levelling a look at Louis before he does not what is expected of him and moves his hips back until his cock slips out easily. However, hands are on Louis’ hips before he can question anything and a surprised squawk is muffled into the bed as Harry presses him face down then yanks him back a few inches by his ankles. Louis thinks about getting onto all fours when Harry’s palms spread his arse open, exposing his wet, loosened hole, and his cock fills Louis right to the hilt again with Louis prettily moaning his stunned, but loud and greedy approval. Harry growls behind him, Louis’ thighs draped outside his knees as he continues the roll of his hips at a faster pace.

Barely a minute later, Harry drapes himself over Louis’ body and presses him down into the mattress, coaxing him to arch his back and hitch his arse high in the air. His touch feels burning hot the closer they get to coming and right now Louis can’t decipher anymore whether that’s still the alcohol and drugs or just the feel of Harry so close, _inside_ him, tugging him along for the ride. Harry snaps his hips to and fro, palms flat on Louis’ shoulderblades and his dick pushing into his prostate on every slightly downward stroke. It’s enough to make Louis choke a curse into the sheets and wrap his hands over the foot of the bed when it happens over and over again, toes curling. His erection is trapped between his stomach and the bed, but he can’t let go for long enough to take a hold and has to make do with a subtle rut against the sheets, Harry’s movements sharp along his nerves as he pushes back onto him to create the sliding friction.

“You wanna come?” Harry’s tongue snakes behind then over the shell of Louis’ ear, making him moan from the memory of where he’s already been with that mouth and the effect of his question. “Want me to fuck you so good you don’t even have to touch your cock to get off? Hm? Do you?”

Louis’ mind always reels hearing Harry speak low and rumbling and filthy, so can’t string an answer together. Not vocally anyway. His body tightens and Harry groans appreciatively, his hips stuttering quick but shallow for a moment and a big hand coming up to clutch the back of Louis’ damp head, mussing up his hair even more than the mess of tufts it’s become. It’s with that grip and another around his waist then flat on his breastbone that Harry hauls Louis against the hard planes of his pecs and fucks up into him instead of through. Louis’ whimper is lost as Harry eases his face towards him for a kiss, deep without entirely always connecting lips, and his blunt fingernails drag across the sparse hair on his chest to make him shiver with goosebumps. Instinctively, Louis goes to touch himself but manages a tiny frown and his mouth drops open when Harry knocks his hand away, only to cup one around to Louis’ throat to feel the sudden, wild spiking of his pulse and then the other to loosely fist his cock. He almost sobs from relief at the direct contact, although craves more as Harry squeezes gently at Louis’ throat to silently tell him to look down to see his curled fingers simply pass over the wet, shiny head. Harry’s hips piston harder and his fingers accidentally take a firmer grip on both points of Louis’ body until he’s moving with him, counteracting Harry with grinding down and forward thrusts of his own, chasing the high now that he seems have the freedom that comes with not being pinned beneath another body.

“Yeah,” Harry grunts, rubbing his forehead against the nape of Louis’ neck in a nod, “yeah, c’mon – you can come – come all over my hand – go on – ”

Louis moans something garbled that may be of a snarky nature if he had the wherewithal to make sense of anything right now as Harry’s fist becomes a blur of motion, gliding in short, rapid tugs on his shaft. He strains against the hold across his throat when he lets go and plummets into his orgasm, fighting not to double over as splatter after splatter of come drips onto Harry’s knuckles and Louis’ shaking thighs and the lowest, softest inch of skin just above his cock. He’s gasping for breath and Harry plain gasps as, through the aftershocks, he pulls out of Louis as quickly but as painlessly as he can. Louis turns to look over his shoulder in confusion because he knows he hadn’t felt Harry come whilst inside him. He couldn’t have been that gone? He hadn’t blacked out for a moment there, right?

But Harry strips off the condom and holds himself carefully as he licks at Louis’ sweaty neck and tucks his face there, whining when he starts to move his hand.

“Hey, hey,” he says in an urgent, roughened voice, “turn – _fuck_! Turn over, darling – on your back – hurry, quick,”

Louis’ disappointment fades instantly and he falls on his side in an uncoordinated sway of limbs before he sprawls out like requested and reaches a hand out as his heart renews its jackhammer speed in his chest, making him dizzy. Guessing he’s as flushed as he feels and sweating and eyes black from desire, he stares up at Harry kneeling between his jelly legs and getting himself off to the sight of his body fucked out and sticky from lube and his own come and knows that Harry wants to add to it, wants to _own_ him like nobody else does. Louis bites his lip, mirroring Harry, as he wriggles to sit up and draw him close. He’s fondling his balls and grabbing him by the base of his dick to keep him steady enough to lower his mouth when Louis sees the tension in his fingers move the length of his forearm and tighten his broad shoulders before his control snaps and, in split seconds, Harry shoots uncontrollably in thick ropes across Louis’ face. Utterly surprised, Louis can only sit there and take it, licking away what landed on his lips.

“Shit, sorry,” Harry says in disbelief when he’s recovered a little, trying not to laugh, “I didn’t mean – it wasn’t supposed to happen. Like that.”

Louis tries to give him a withering look, although he suspect it doesn’t work when he’s got come sliding down his nose, “At least aim for my mouth next time!”

He makes a sympathetic sound of agreement and Louis lets it go with another grumble under his breath as Harry’s thumb wipes at his eyelids then carries on down the curve of his cheekbone. By the time he’s near his lower lip, Louis can’t help sucking the tip into his mouth like he regrettably wished he could’ve done to Harry’s dick. Still, that’s worth it for the way Harry’s eyes go soft and fond and he drags his thumb out to trace Louis’ chin and press into his Adam’s apple as he murmurs that he’ll be right back.

Louis watches him head to the en-suite for half a second before he flops into the bed, finally completely spent. He doesn’t care that he has not a stitch covering him, it’s not like Harry minds, although apparently he minds enough about what he did to him to emerge from the bathroom with a wet flannel and a sheepish expression that looks more like shy, helpless delight and Louis can’t help but giggle. He’s wiped his face mostly in the sheets anyway, but Harry seems determined and sets about doing the work as Louis lays there. After about another handful of seconds, he gets quickly irritable as he huffs that he can _clean myself, thank you very much_ when Harry moves to indulgently caressing his sides with the flannel and up to brush his collarbone, even though he’s mostly clean there already.

“Yeah?” Harry grins lazily, “You’re not loving this then?”

He abandons the flannel warmly in the crease of Louis’ hip to thigh without either saying anything to that and kisses the opposite one next to his cheek as he shuffles - open mouthed, down, down - until he can cast his eyes along the length of Louis’ body. Louis smoothes the excessively curly ends of Harry’s hair away from his face and watches in affectionate exasperation that turns into a gasp pulled out of his chest when Harry flicks his tongue languidly against his hole to make him squirm immediately about with a breathless, giggly, “later, later,” and not be aware or care about what he’s promising.

Harry complies with a smirk and fakes a move to kiss Louis as he looms above, rolling off to beside him instead. In his peripheral vision, Louis can see him staring and he leans in to kiss his cheek anyway.

“You love my mouth, don’t you?”

As usual, it’s an excuse to be near Louis’ ear with his dirty whispers, but luckily he knows Harry’s game by now. Despite a softly-voiced “stop it, you,” he shifts onto his side and fits his arms around Harry’s neck as they face each other and get comfortable now that they’re the right way around with their heads close together on the pillows.

“You know I do,” his eyes crinkle at the corners, “just one of the many things I do love about you. Which is why you’ve got _nothing_ to worry about with Chad.”

Louis squeezes his neck in what he thinks is a reassuring, relaxed gesture but Harry’s fingertips stop skating along his ribs. He tries to play it off with a childish roll of the eyes, only missing mimicking the name whilst pulling a face, but Louis feels his shoulders visibly tense underneath his hands as their easy conversation circles round to the crux of the matter. 

He chuckles to keep it light and tightens his hold. “Listen! I’m being serious. I have not and will not ever go there. It’s...not like that. It’s crazy and almost can’t be explained and your jealousy is even crazier _but_ ,” he emphasises when it looks as if Harry is affronted, “it’s very, very sweet. Why would I want anyone else when I’ve got you? You’re my best friend first, boyfriend second. Remember that, okay?”

Mini speech complete, Louis takes a chance and pushes Harry flat so he can swing his leg and straddle him. He leans down for a kiss as Harry’s hands come up to press into the small of his back and he nudges their noses when they break apart, a sigh of _I know, sorry, of course_ wordless but heard loud and clear.

“Come on, we should shower. I might even blow you while we’re in there.” Louis kisses him gently again for good measure, close enough to whisper, “Teach you this time to come _in_ my mouth.”

Harry swats at him half-heartedly but he’s not going to turn down an offer like that, so he scrambles to his feet and clasps Louis’ hand to pull him up, both of them giggling as they rush towards the bathroom door.

Sometimes it’s difficult for Louis to understand how he got so lucky with Harry, but he’s glad that, through anything and everything, big or small, they’re still here.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, lovelies x
> 
> I'm on [Tumblr](http://www.theprincessed.tumblr.com). Come say hi! :D


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